


no wealth, no land, no silver or gold

by Damkianna



Category: Sinbad (TV)
Genre: Extra Treat, F/F, Gen, Hints of Rina/Nala, ToT: Monster Mash, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 07:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12502312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damkianna/pseuds/Damkianna
Summary: Death came for Nala in the late afternoon.And probably wasn't expecting to have to argue with Rina about it.





	no wealth, no land, no silver or gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/gifts).



> I've never been sure whether the version of "Death" we met in 1.04 was _really_ Death or just something else pretending—for the purposes of this ficlet, I've decided to run with the second option. :D Thank you so much for all your lovely prompts, and happy ToT! (Title is, of course, from the lyrics of ... well, at least one version of "O Death".)

 

 

Death came for Nala in the late afternoon.

Rina was almost expecting it, by the time it happened. There was something in the air, a dull pressure; and the sea had gone still beneath them; and a faint gray veil of mist had caught up to them, shrouding the _Providence_ stem to stern. The sun had sunk low, fat and bloody through the haze, only just too bright to look at.

Like the first time, except different. No ship, because after all Death had no need of such things to go where it would. A shadow, where there ought not to be one—and Rina only noticed it because she was already on edge, because she looked where other people didn't. The rest of them, or at least everyone on deck, had grown quiet, restless, but they weren't looking at it: Sinbad was gazing out at the sea, hand rubbing with absent discomfort at the back of his neck; and Gunnar down at his own hands, his thick scarred knuckles; and Nala at her hair, fixedly, hands slowing on her braid.

And Rina wanted to yell to them but couldn't. She couldn't do anything. Something had already grabbed hold of her—of all of them, somehow. Nala's hands slowed further, and further; and Rina stared at them, eyes stinging, and made herself remember the shadow, dug her nails into the thought and hung on grimly. It was like Roisin the siren-girl, the way everything wanted to slide out of her head—the way she had to concentrate to keep it there, to keep breathing and blinking and moving instead of listening to whatever it was that wanted her to stop.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Nala's hands go still—perfectly still, steady, like a statue. And then her ears popped, and the back of her neck prickled, and a woman's low sweet voice said, "Oh, I see."

And all at once Rina was free again, and could move. Could move, and did, turning to look.

Shadows, all shadows—and that was going to drive her mad, that was. Bits and pieces, impressions through the gloom: black steady eyes, a high forehead, the hollow of a cheek, dark gleam of gold at the throat; but it wouldn't come together into a _face_ , couldn't be made to.

"You have been touched," said Death, soft and thoughtful. "You spend a lot of time with the old man; he has woken you up, thief-girl."

Rina raised her eyebrows. "What, Cook?" she said.

"If that is what you call him," Death agreed, sounding vaguely bored.

Rina looked at the hatch that went below, and then back at Death—or, well, didn't quite, considering the way her mind slid off just to one side of actually _seeing_ anything.

And it hadn't been like that, last time.

"It wasn't you last time, was it?"

"No," said Death.

"Talkative," Rina muttered, and then cleared her throat and tilted her head. "Suppose you're still here for her, though."

And it was hard to say for sure, but she thought perhaps Death's lightless gaze flickered to Nala, posed there on the deck with her braid half-finished.

"Yes," Death murmured.

"Well—all right, then," Rina said. "Can't say I see the appeal, but I can hardly stop you. What with you being Death and all."

"You cannot," Death agreed, and then without seeming to move was somehow nearer—the air closer and darker around Rina, and a faint chill sighing across her bare arms. "My wife is pleasing."

"Oh, sure," Rina said, blithe. "If you like that sort of thing. She told us you'd come for her, you know. And it wasn't that I didn't believe her, but, well—I just couldn't see what was supposed to be so special about her, that's all. But here you are! So I suppose it doesn't matter what I think."

"Oh?" said Death, sweeping silently nearer.

And oh, but it was hard not to flinch! Something in Rina, unquestioning and animal, wanted to—could tell it was _death_ standing so close by, and was desperate to get as far away as it could.

But Rina breathed in slow and then out again, relaxed her hands and arms so they couldn't tremble and give her away, and then shrugged one shoulder. "I'm just saying, you haven't been on a ship with her for a year. I was. And then _I_ hadn't been on a ship with her for a good six months, before she came back on board—almost forgot how annoying she could be. Bossy, you know. Stubborn, difficult.

"No skin off my nose if you take her; you'd be doing me a favor, really. I figured somebody ought to tell you before you married her, that's all."

"She was promised to me," said Death, low and stern, inexorable.

Rina made a considering face. "Well, and she'll be delivered, in the end. Everybody dies. Hardly much need to rush. You do what you like, of course," she added, tone pacifying. "But if I were you, I'd at least think about it. Might as well leave her here a while. See if her rough edges don't smooth out a bit with time—give her a chance to get a little more agreeable."

Death looked at Rina; and Rina sucked in a sharp breath and tried to bear up under it. It was—it was heavy, Death's stare. Heavy and steady and endless, black and silent, pressing her down, down, down—

"I know you, thief-girl," said Death gently; at least, Rina thought distantly, she didn't sound angry. "You, too, are mine, and I can see it in your heart: you have already decided. You have been to the land of the dead. You know the way. And you are, in all things, a thief. If I take her, you will only steal her back.

"And you are right. She will come to my door herself, in the end. So keep her if you like, thief-girl. Keep her to yourself, for as long as it will last."

And then, all at once, the dark and the cold were overpowering. Rina squeezed her eyes shut, and couldn't breathe; and there was, perhaps, the faintest brush of an icy mouth against her cheek, searing—

 

 

 

She woke up on the deck, gasping and blinking water out of her eyes, wet hair sticking to her cheeks. "What," she said breathlessly, "what—hey! Hey, stop, I'm awake!"

"Good," Nala said, flat and a little vicious, and threw another bucket of water on her.

Rina sputtered and spat, and managed to roll over in time to keep any of it from going up her nose. She was going to shake herself off, wipe her eyes clear, and then probably throw herself at Nala yelling insults—

Except then someone settled a hand on her shoulder. Not Nala—Cook.

Rina blinked through her wet bangs at him.

He looked at her silently for a beat, eyes narrowed, and then said, "You have woken up, then. Good."

"You're as bad as she was," Rina muttered, just loud enough for him to hear; and he smiled at her placidly and—of course—didn't explain himself at all.

"What _happened_ ," Nala demanded from over Cook's shoulder, not precisely a question.

"You tell me," Rina shot back, and Nala stared down at her with her hands on her hips and then suddenly shivered, looking away.

"I don't know," she said slowly. "Everything got very—strange. The light, the sky, the ship." She gestured, and the gesture reminded Rina to look around: it was sunset now, brilliant pink and gold spilling all over, brisk scudding clouds and waves smacking at the _Providence_ 's hull.

No sign of the mist, nor that awful dragging sluggishness. Rina felt sharp, crisp, awake, able to think again.

"And I couldn't move," Nala was saying, rubbing absently at her arms. "I couldn't move, and it was so cold."

"And then it was gone," Sinbad added, from beside her. Gunnar was standing at his shoulder, silent—but nodding gravely, as if to agree. "It was over, and the mist cleared."

"You were on the deck," Anwar finished on the other side, shaking his head and looking troubled. "You were on the deck and you weren't breathing, and your face was cold."

"You looked dead," Nala blurted. "And you—Rina," she said, faltering. "Your cheek."

There was still water pooled on the deck around Rina. She looked down into it, tilted her face around. A streak of white—a scar, Rina thought, that looked as if she'd gotten it years ago.

"Well, that's interesting," Rina murmured.

"It was Death, wasn't it?" Nala said, hushed.

Rina looked up at her and shrugged. "Yes," she said. "She came for a look at you—"

"She?" Sinbad said, startled.

"The last time, the old man—that wasn't her," Rina explained, impatient. "She came for a look at you, but I told her how annoying you were, and she decided she didn't care to marry you after all."

Nala stared at her.

"Should've kept my mouth shut," Rina added thoughtfully, "and let her take you off our hands—" and then she couldn't talk anymore, breath pressed out of her in a wheeze, because Nala had dropped to the deck and thrown her arms around Rina's neck.

"Thank you," she was saying, "thank you," and then she laughed into Rina's hair a little and added, "you idiot—thank you," and drew back just far enough to kiss Rina on the cheek.

Felt a lot nicer when it wasn't Death doing it, Rina thought. And then she thought about that cold, that black shadow, the dim gray streets of the city of the dead, and Nala trapped there alone forever; and then she let herself hug back.

 

 


End file.
